


Breaking All The Rules

by Rycolfan (Snarryeyes)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Whose Line, Vancouver era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1515731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarryeyes/pseuds/Rycolfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin, Ryan, and a bottle of scotch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking All The Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Vancouver in the early eighties, and inspired by something Ryan said in an interview about getting kicked out for drinking before a show.
> 
> Not real (apart from aspects mentioned by Ryan). No offense intended to those portrayed herein.

The theater dressing room was less like a dressing room, more like a slightly decorated broom closet. It did have chairs, at least, and a valiant attempt at a dressing table, complete with lights around the edges even if most of them didn’t work. The walls were a patchwork of peeling paint and damp spots, hidden in places by an assortment of discarded props and costumes that Ryan was willing to bet had been there for at least a decade. The small amount of uncluttered space in the center of the room revealed the threadbare carpet. It was worn down a little further by the scuffing motion of the door as it opened. Colin looked momentarily surprised to see Ryan there already. 

“Hey! You’re keen tonight.”

Ryan shrugged, uncrossing his legs and removing them from where they’d been resting on the other chair. “Not really. It started raining so I walked faster.” He put his dwindling cigarette back to his lips and inhaled, blowing smoke in a plume towards the dirty ceiling and added, almost as an afterthought, “I hate the rain.”

Colin removed his wet coat and hung it on a peg on the door, revealing a line between wet and dry on the lower half of his pants below the knee. His shoes squeaked slightly where the rain water had seeped in. Still, he was in a better state than Ryan. “You know, there are these things called umbrellas that can help with that.”

“Ha ha,” Ryan deadpanned and then paused because he didn’t have a decent retort. “I don’t have one,” he added gruffly.

“Poor deprived soul,” Colin said with a sad shake of his head, breaking into a grin when he had to dodge Ryan’s sodden shoe.

“What I _do_ have is this.” With a flourish, Ryan produced a bottle of scotch from a paper bag beside him. “Be nice or I won’t let you have any.”

Colin raised an eyebrow, his hand pausing halfway through a sweep of his damp hair, already graying and thinning on top. “You know we’re not allowed that here, right?”

“What they don’t know won’t kill them,” Ryan replied easily, taking out a couple of plastic cups he’d had the foresight to store in a draw some weeks earlier. “Do you want some or not?”

Hands up in surrender, Colin accepted a cup and settled himself on the other chair. Pouring a generous amount for himself, Ryan raised his cup towards Colin.

“To making shit up and getting away with it.”

“Amen,” Colin returned with a grin, raising his own to nudge it gently against Ryan’s. It was a dull thud instead of a clink.

“Why are you here early, anyway?” Ryan asked a moment later, disposing of his cigarette in the already full ashtray on the table. Most of it slumped over the side onto a pile of old papers.

Having just taken another sip, Colin let it slide around his mouth for longer than necessary. Ryan could tell he was stalling. Finally he swallowed and gave a half shrug. “The heat’s off at my apartment. I figured it’d be warmer here.”

Ryan responded by grabbing the bottle and refilling both of their cups. “This’ll warm you inside and out.”

 

Half an hour later, slouching further in their chairs with the weight and warmth of whisky in their bellies, Colin tilted his head towards Ryan with a thoughtful expression.

“Why did you bring booze tonight, anyway?”

Ryan shrugged, or rather tried to. It was difficult when his shoulders were wedged against the hard back of the chair. “Something to pass the time. And I thought you might need some Dutch courage after last night.”

“When you tried to kiss me in front of a paying audience, you mean?”

“The prince tried to kiss Snow White,” Ryan corrected. “And why shouldn’t he?”

Colin snorted, his eyes dancing brightly with a mixture of merriment and alcohol. “There are so many answers to that, I’m having trouble deciding which one to go with first.”

Ryan’s answering smile turned contemplative and he studied Colin over the rim of his cup, his chair emitting a high-pitched creak as he stretched his legs. “Have you ever kissed another man, Col?”

“Oh, sure,” Colin said, laughing. The booze in his bloodstream made it higher and more breathless than usual. “They’re lining up at my door.”

Making a decision, Ryan put his cup down and stood up. “Come here.”

“Why?” Colin asked, his face still alight with amusement.

“The prince wants his kiss.”

“But we’re not on stage now,” Colin pointed out, letting himself be pulled to his feet nevertheless. He stumbled slightly as his brain caught up with the movement, a hand shooting out to clasp Ryan’s arm to steady himself.

“If you’re afraid of something, you have to face your fear to overcome it,” Ryan said sagely, noting as he did so that his brain was feeling foggy as well. He hadn't drunk that much. Then Colin looked up at him and the feeling increased.

“I’m not afraid.”

“Good,” Ryan answered, his voice catching ever so slightly. He grinned to cover it. “It’s already working then.”

Colin snorted and shook his head slowly, all the while still looking up into Ryan’s face with that same open expression. “Be sure to deflate that ego before we go or you won’t fit back out the door.”

“Be quiet and pucker up, Snow,” Ryan ordered playfully, and Colin did so without further protest.

Trying not to laugh at Colin’s utterly ridiculous ‘Princess about to be kissed’ expression, Ryan leaned in to meet his lips.

He’d intended it to be a stage kiss, a quick press of closed lips and done, a silly drinking game. But when Colin’s lips parted beneath his as if to say something—probably a crack—Ryan found himself pushing forward, slipping past those lips with his tongue to map further, wider, distantly wondering why the whisky tasted sweeter on Colin’s tongue. 

Colin stilled, letting out a long slow breath through his nose, and then Ryan felt himself tugged forwards so that the length of their bodies were pressed tightly together. It took a moment for Ryan to register the hard bulge rubbing against his thigh but instead of shocking him into stepping back, he actually ground his hips forwards, seeking more contact. And when Colin moaned softly into his mouth, he decided he needed to do it again. Damn the consequences.

Keeping his eyes tightly shut, Ryan just allowed himself to feel, from the soft slide of Colin’s tongue curling around his to the grinding motion of their pelvises sending sparks of pleasure down to the very tips of his toes. He could easily come from this alone, and would given a few more minutes. The fact that he didn’t have a change of clothes seemed utterly unimportant.

Three short sharp thumps on the door broke the moment as effectively as a hammer through a pane of glass. They had managed to put some distance between them as the door opened but the bottle of whisky was still sitting in plain view, openly mocking the theater rules. The stage manager’s eyes narrowed, flitting between them to settle on the bottle.

“Looks like you just lost your places.” He hooked a grubby thumb over his shoulder. “Out! And if you want to come back tomorrow, stick to the rules.”

Ryan could only nod, barely registering the man’s words, his mind and body still reeling from the intensity of what he’d just experienced. He knew that he could blame it on the alcohol—that they could never speak of it again if that’s what he wanted. The trouble was he didn’t.

As the door closed again he turned to Colin, noting his guarded expression and tense posture. That, more than anything, set him on a firm course.

“Their loss,” he shrugged. “I have a better bottle at home.” He snatched up his coat and then plucked Colin’s from its peg on the door, turning to offer it to him. “What do you say?”

A smile crept onto Colin’s face as he slowly relaxed. He reached out to take the coat and Ryan felt the slightest brush of Colin’s fingers against his hand. “I say, what are we waiting for?”


End file.
